


Debut, Part II:  In Plain Sight

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Building Tension, Established Relationship, F/M, Mollcroft, Mycroft and Molly, Post-TAB Setting, Sexual Content (Mature), Their First "Official" Date, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mycroft and Molly finally spend an evening out – an actual planned date! – and experience the delights that sometimes come after having to delay one’s pleasures for a while …</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debut, Part II:  In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Molly was ready half an hour before Mycroft was due to pick her up and then had to spend the unexpected free time trying to calm down. Reminding herself it was _just a date(!)_ didn’t have much effect on her nerves _or_ excitement level. At ten minutes to seven, she was back at her bedroom mirror, turning from side to side, leaning close and away … questioning every choice, seeing every flaw.

She’d had her hair trimmed late that afternoon and the loose style and left-side parting was casually sexy … or so the salon staff had assured her. But maybe she should have gone for an updo? And her makeup … was it too much? She’d let them go farther with it than was her norm, and she supposed the result was still understated compared to – well, _most_ people who were going on a special date. But her lips … was that bronze red really a good color for her? Did it look like she was trying too hard? “Oh _god,”_ she groaned and made a face at Toby, who was pretending to ignore her from his place on the bed.

She’d been wearing her new heels off and on all day, knowing she needed to practice walking in the stilettos, and she could now easily saunter across the flat without wobbling. Molly’s practical nature had made her ensure the shoes had good heel protectors, but otherwise they’d been her most impractical, most impulsive purchase for ages. She twisted sideways to study them again. The girly part of her loved the scalloped sides and the bow above the peep-toe that showed off her fresh pedicure. Bronze red again. Surely the darker tone against the black leather wasn’t as overtly sexy as a true red would be?

Molly suddenly grinned at herself in the mirror. _Damn,_ but the shoes made her feel sexy! And what the height of the heel did for the appearance of her bum and legs ... Mycroft might even notice, although he seemed to care little about what she wore.

She turned to look over her shoulder in the mirror again and frowned. Her only true discomfort came from the black dress, which was supposedly a “classic.” All she knew about where they were going was Mycroft said to treat it as a special occasion, but not a formal one, and that he’d be wearing a dark suit. When asked for an opinion by Molly, the sales assistant had interpreted his comment to mean a cocktail dress would be suitable – and she’d assured Molly the LBD was sophisticated but not too sophisticated, dressy but not overly formal, classy but with a touch of sex. The silk peau de soie was subdued, but the bodice had a lightly beaded organza overlay and the close-fitting sleeves were of the same thin organza. The neckline was high with a button-loop closure at her nape, and the length was modest at mid-knee. Still, the material skimmed over her waist and hips a bit too closely, she thought, and even worse the back –

Molly turned away from the mirror with a smile on hearing the three quick taps ring out and hurried to the entry, swinging the black velvet cape she’d found in a vintage shop around her shoulders and fastening its jeweled clasp at her throat with one hand while reaching for the doorknob with the other. Mycroft could have let himself in, but she liked that he’d waited for her.

“Good evening, Mycroft,” she opened the door wide, not trying to hide her excitement as he came into the flat. He stooped to set his suit bag on the floor along the wall, then started to kiss her, but hesitated when he saw her lipstick. “It’s supposed to be smudge-proof,” she said, keeping her chin lifted in invitation.

Mycroft pressed his lips carefully to hers, then pulled back and raised his brows. “You’ve grown,” he observed drily, then lifted his brows when she rested her hand on his shoulder and held her foot out. “Good lord, Molly – you could break an ankle falling off of those.”

“I’m not going to fall,” she assured him. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You do look lovely, my dear,” he said softly.

“Thank you … so do you.”

“Lovely?”

_“Handsome.”_

His lips quirked in response. “Are you ready to go?”

~ ~

Molly turned from watching the busy vehicle and people traffic along Piccadilly to instead study Mycroft, who looked up from his mobile after a few moments. “All right?”

“Other than being curious about where we’re going, yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

“We’re dining at a restaurant that has excellent service, excellent food and, I’ll admit, an old-fashioned ambience, but if you go in determined to enjoy the experience, you will.”

“Oh god, Mycroft – you mean it’s somewhere that I’ll feel totally out of place.”

“No,” he said, taking her hand, “there’s absolutely no need for that. I’m hoping it will be a treat for you, and I promise we’ll dine very well indeed.”

Molly’s eyes widened. She understood him well enough to read between the lines ... and she would likely feel out of place, she thought, turning to look out the window again. She was sure he didn’t intend their evening out to be a test of some sort, but she also understood he was about to share part of his world that would be alien to her experience. She bit her lip, then suddenly remembered the lipstick and quickly released it. She squared her shoulders and turned back to him with a smile. “Does that mean _you_ plan to enjoy the meal? No unnecessary dieting tonight?”

“I plan to savor every bite,” Mycroft assured her, thinking of the meals he’d cut back on or skipped entirely over the past five days and the extra time he’d spent on his treadmill.

Molly looked out the window as they made a turn. Duke Street St. James’s, she thought, but then they turned again. _Jermyn Street?_ No, surely it wasn’t … but it _was._ As they drew to a stop, she studied the restaurant’s deceptively modest entrance – the street frontage being just the width of a single glass door beside a sheet glass window – if one disregarded all the rich wood paneling and woodwork framing said door and window … and all the mahogany paneling one could see in the vestibule just beyond the door. She turned to stare at Mycroft again -

“It will be fine,” he said, squeezing her hand as the car door opened. She hesitated a moment before letting go of him and then carefully climbed out, thanked the driver and turned to wait for Mycroft. Once he’d had a word with Simon, he offered Molly his arm. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Molly slipped her hand through Mycroft’s elbow as they crossed the pavement and then nodded at the doorman who stepped aside as he greeted them. _Madam?_ She kept her expression pleasant, offering staff members a small smile whenever it seemed appropriate, but stayed silent as they checked their outer garments.

Mycroft ran his eyes down Molly’s dress and gave her a warm smile before turning to face the restaurant manager who’d arrived to welcome them. As they exchanged greetings (using first names, Molly noticed), Mycroft rested his hand against Molly’s back … then immediately dropped it, startled that his fingers had touched the silky smoothness of her bare skin. She glanced at Mycroft curiously before looking at the manager again. As the other man pivoted to lead them to their table, Mycroft discreetly tilted his head to study the back of her dress and realized his hand had inadvertently slipped through an oval slit in the beaded overlay between her neck and waist that at its widest point displayed a two-inch strip of her spine. He carefully placed his hand to the side of the vertical opening, urging Molly forward, then became aware that his fingers were cupping the side of her hip too intimately so he shifted his hand upward again, making sure it was resting on the beaded material and not warm flesh.

Mycroft resisted the desire to run his finger along the inside of what suddenly felt like a too tight collar. He eventually dropped his hand and simply followed behind Molly, but then realized his eyes had wandered over her bottom and lingered too long on the back of her legs. He quickly shifted his gaze over her head … and straight into the eyes of Sir Edwin, who was sitting at a nearby table.

Molly’s step faltered when Mycroft suddenly cursed under his breath and she hesitated and looked at him over her shoulder. “What is it,” she mouthed.

He put his hand on her back again, encouraging her to catch up with the manager, who’d paused to wait on them. “Nothing, my dear. Let’s get to our table.”

Molly had mostly kept her eyes facing forward and concentrated on not wobbling on the thick carpeting, but she still couldn’t help but notice and appreciate all the mahogany paneling, richly colored paintings, warm lighting and hushed conversation. It looked more like how she imagined an old-fashioned gentlemen’s club would be than it did a restaurant … more a case of nooks and crannies than open dining area. She’d started to wonder about them being put so far toward the back of the dining room but then smiled broadly when they were finally shown to a private booth that looked both cozy and romantic.

Molly turned her smile on their escort when he stood aside for her to settle on the deeply cushioned bench seat. She waited until Mycroft sat across from her, then scooted over so she was facing him. They were pretty much hidden from anyone else’s view, and she suddenly didn’t care if the manager saw her wonderment at their surroundings. No doubt he knew she’d never been there before – or ever had any idea of being there - so Molly sat back and openly checked out their booth.

The backs of the benches were also cushioned in green velvet, and each side of the booth was framed in mahogany to the ceiling with an inset panel of etched glass. The booth was cozily lit by a lamp mounted above a painting on the wall beside them as well as a small lamp on the table. The table was set with crisp white linen, heavy silver, wine glasses ... Molly silently swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and focused on arranging the two loose cushions more comfortably behind her.

“Molly?” She looked up with a smile and raised brows. “Would you like to start with some oysters? If not, there are many other options,” Mycroft said, lifting his hand toward the menu she’d so far disregarded, then glanced at the manager who’d been joined by a waitress. “Give us a few minutes, please.” When they left, he leaned forward and rested his hand over Molly’s. “There’s no rush about anything tonight, my dear. Take your time.”

Rather than open the menu, Molly twisted her hand under his until they were palm to palm. “May I be very old-fashioned and ask you to order for me?”

“I don’t know what you –”

“If you order me something different from yours, would it be terribly gauche to share dishes?”

“Terribly,” he said straight-faced, “but I think they’d get over it.” When Molly laughed, he said, “No, it’s not a problem.” He released her hand and sat back when the waitress returned.

Molly watched him interact with the woman (who was wearing a strangely old-fashioned uniform), but paid little attention to what he actually said. She’d eat whatever he ordered for her – or at least taste it. She just hoped he didn’t realize she’d been too nervous to look at the menu, having previously seen restaurant reviews that said its prices were astonishingly high. She simply didn’t want to know what the dinner was going to cost Mycroft, no matter how little he’d notice the dip into his pocket. She turned her head, abruptly focused on the couple currently being shown to the next booth and had to forcefully suppress a gasp. _Good god_ … the man was high enough in the royal pecking order that she actually knew where he was placed in line to the throne.

Molly settled deeper against the seat cushion and stared at Mycroft as the waitress finally left. She’d known Mycroft was used to dealing with people in high places – even the highest in the land – but she’d never actually _seen_ him out among them.

He fit there … absolutely.

She mentally shook off her insecurities and leaned over the table. “You promised me a treat, Mycroft, but I never expected _this.”_

“I forbid – yes, _forbid,”_ he stressed at her raised brows. “I forbid you to be intimidated by a restaurant just because it’s been around, in one form or another, for almost three hundred years.”

“That’s not why I –”

“Molly,” he said chidingly and reached for her hand. “Just enjoy it … please.” They continued to stare at each other and eventually the corners of his eyes creased in amusement and her lips turned up. His expression relaxed into an actual grin when Molly jumped at the unexpected rattle from the silver champagne stand being set beside the booth, but his face had smoothed into its usual neutral lines when he glanced at the sommelier and lifted his chin in a nod.

Molly’s attention wandered from their discussion of wines for the rest of the meal and focused on the deftness with which the man opened the champagne with a discreet _pop._ He raised the bottle toward Molly with another _Madam?_ … and waited for her nod before filling her glass. She wasn’t sure whether to pick it up or wait, so glanced at Mycroft and easily interpreted the flick of his brow and quirk of his lip. She took a self-conscious sip, then smiled at both men – and thought their evening out was surely going to be marred if she didn’t relax.

So over the next couple of hours, Molly did.

There were oysters to start for him and lobster cocktail for her. He’d encouraged her to try an oyster and actually demonstrated two methods of eating them. First a quick squeeze of lemon, then lift the widest end to the lips and tilt the oyster and juices from the shell directly into the mouth … and choose whether to chew the meat to enjoy all the rich flavor (which he preferred) or to swallow it whole. When Mycroft tilted his head back and let an oyster slide down his throat, Molly stared as his flesh moved with his swallow and felt a fluttering warmth between her legs. She knew her color had risen when he lowered his chin and looked at her … and whatever showed on her face caused him to hesitate before setting the shell aside. He stared at her for a moment, then waved two fingers at the remaining oysters. “Do you want to try one, my dear?” His eyes widened a fraction and noticeably darkened when Molly slid off her bench and came around to sit by him.

“All right,” she said, glancing up at him. She carefully picked up a shell and maneuvered the widest part toward her mouth, then paused. “I think I’m a swallow-it-whole girl.” She tipped the oyster into her mouth and suppressed an instinctive grimace at the texture, then tilted her head farther back and prayed it would go down without gagging her. “Thank you, Mycroft,” she said softly after a few moments … and then behaved very badly indeed when she gave his thigh a brisk rub and pat before scooting off his bench and moving back to hers, where she reached for her glass of champagne without looking at him. The ensuing silence felt tense until Mycroft finally cleared his throat and reached for another oyster. Molly carefully kept her eyes lowered until he’d swallowed it and reached for his own glass.

“So, um, what’s next on the menu?” Molly realized she was nervously fingering the silver cutlery and forced herself to stop as Mycroft briefly described the choices he’d made for them.

A stilton soufflé was followed by cold beef consommé and then the evening’s spectacle … a visit by the carving trolley with its enormous silver dome that was lifted by the _trancheur_ to reveal a gorgeous beef wellington. A waiter appeared with glazed carrots and French beans and broccoli. Over the meal, they had the champagne and red wine – two types, she thought – and another white as they went from course to course. And still there was more to come ... and somewhere amidst the focus on fine dining, Molly had again brought things back to what was between the two of them by slipping off a shoe and sliding her silk-stockinged foot beneath Mycroft’s trouser leg and up his shin. She’d stared at him silently as she brushed her toes against him for several seconds before drawing her foot back … and his narrowed gaze and fixed expression had made her shiver before she lowered her eyes to her plate again. Her breath had audibly caught when his shoe nudged the toe of hers then slid between her feet and stayed there.

Throughout their evening the restaurant staff had been discreet, never hovering or otherwise making Molly feel self-conscious about her and Mycroft’s quiet conversation, but they always seemed to appear at just the right moment. Mycroft had waved away salad, then the cheese plate when Molly finally said “I simply can’t” but when the desserts arrived … _Oh dear._ Bread and butter pudding with vanilla custard for him, strawberry crumble with lemony ice cream for her, along with the coffee service.

Then later, while Mycroft was taking care of business matters, Molly took the opportunity to go to the loo. He arched a brow quizzically when she returned, and she knew her expression had probably reflected her rather ribald thoughts … and promptly blushed.

~ ~

Just as they stepped out onto the pavement and moved toward the curb, a strong gust of wind sent Molly’s cape swirling around her knees and her hair flying. She turned to Mycroft, laughing in delight even as her shoulders hunched and sudden shivers ran through her. The velvet cape provided very little protection from the drop in temperature. _“Brrrrrr!_ Where did _this_ come from?”

“Straight from the Arctic, it would seem,” Mycroft said, laughing under his breath as he opened the front of his overcoat and Molly ran into his arms without hesitation. He quickly gathered her in and wrapped the coat around her. “Better?” When a heavy shudder ran through her, Mycroft cocked his head so he could see her face in the soft glow of the streetlight. “Molly?”

“Yes,” she said huskily, shifting to grip his back more firmly. “Much better.” She tilted her head until her eyes met his, then lowered her gaze to his lips – so tantalizingly close because of her high heels. Her lips parted on a shaky breath when Mycroft’s hands clutched her even more closely and she stopped breathing altogether when his mouth edged lower … but then his head jerked back and Molly heard the smooth purr of the car’s engine as it came to a stop behind her.

~ ~

As the car merged with traffic on Piccadilly, Molly became aware that she was twisting her hands in her lap and quickly glanced Mycroft’s way. He’d just pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked up at the same moment. “Sorry,” he said, “but I need to check something.”

Until Molly saw him now with the phone, she hadn’t considered its absence while they were in the restaurant. “Of course,” she said, then turned to look out the window as she carefully flattened her hands against her thighs. She’d come so close, she thought – _too_ close to blurting out her feelings when he’d drawn her against him, shared the warmth of his coat and body. Even now she couldn’t believe he’d acted so impulsively in public … one might say _affectionately,_ she thought. Molly turned back when Mycroft sighed and tucked his phone away. “Problem at work?”

He smiled lazily as he rolled his head toward her. “It’s simply been a long time since I indulged myself as freely as we did tonight.”

“You’re not regretting it already, are you?”

“Definitely not,” he said, shifting closer to Molly as he placed his hand over hers. “I intend to regret nothing about our evening together.”

“Our _date,”_ she said.

“Our date,” he repeated obediently … then absolutely shocked Molly by sliding his arm around her and leaning over to press his lips to her forehead.

_“Mycroft,”_ she whispered fiercely, face flaming as she used her elbow to create some space between them. _“Simon,”_ she hissed.

“That’s Simon, yes,” he agreed, nodding toward the front seat.

Molly twisted until she could flatten her hands on his chest and stared at him, trying to see his face more clearly whenever the shadows were pushed back by passing streetlights. “Good god, Mycroft … are you _drunk?”_

A timely flash of light caught the eye roll as he gave an exasperated snort and withdrew his arm before sitting up. “No, I’m not drunk,” he said calmly. “I was attempting to follow certain date-night etiquette.”

“What?”

“A dating couple in the back seat of a car? A small kiss seemed the least I could offer,” he said, then quickly added, “And a kiss was _all_ I was offering.”

Molly realized her mouth was open and shut it with a snap. “You thought I expected –”

“Not _expected,”_ he said, “but I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“So you were offering me a bit of romance.” When he grimaced, she slid her hands around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Mycroft …,” she said, tilting her head until she could see his face. “You’ve made me very happy.”

They stared at each other as the flickering lights caught the gleam of the other’s eyes. After a few moments, he brought his free hand to cover both of hers on his arm. “Molly …”

“Yes?”

“How is it you’ve never been intimidated by me.”

“Oh come on, Mycroft,” she snorted. “You know I was those first few times you came into Barts with Sherlock and I soon found reasons to be elsewhere. And that didn’t change until your dismissive attitude finally made me really cross,” she said, smiling slowly as she leaned closer. “Then once we got together, how could I be intimidated by someone I’ve …” He’d considerately bent his head lower, and the rest was whispered directly in his ear. When Molly sat back and looked out the window, she could feel the tingling warmth in her cheeks. She gave Mycroft a quick glance and the heat in her face intensified when the passing streetlights caught his dark expression and the taut set of his jaw. She was relieved when the sudden blast of a car horn nearby drew Mycroft’s attention from her. She resolved to resist teasing him in public and quickly changed the subject. “What happened when we went into the restaurant? Something or someone annoyed you.”

Mycroft sighed. “Someone from work I’d really rather not have seen, especially when I was trying to set work aside for a few hours.”

“You didn’t want him to see me with you,” she said expressionlessly.

Mycroft’s brows lowered as he frowned. “Not in the sense you likely mean,” he said. “I’d rather not make Sir Edwin’s meddling in my affairs easier for him.”

“Sir Edwin?”

Mycroft rubbed his forehead, then tilted his head against the back of the seat as he dropped his hand to his lap. “Would you please forget that name, my dear?”

“All right.”

“You won’t, of course,” he observed, then shifted to look down at her. “I suppose you’d call him a colleague,” he said evenly, “but he’s made things more difficult concerning Sherlock’s current status … and that’s all you need to know – and more than I should have told you. All right?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Mycroft.” She looked past him and straightened when she saw how close they were to her flat.

~ ~

“Thank you, Simon. Would you let Lawrence know we’ll be expecting him at half past eight,” Mycroft said, then closed the car door and placed his hand firmly on Molly’s back as they crossed the pavement. He waited for her to unlock the street door, silently climbed the stairs beside her, waited again outside the flat, then followed her in and quickly shrugged out of his coat. He took Molly’s cape from her and turned away, holding it between his hands for a few moments as he steadied himself. When he again faced Molly, she was staring at him wide-eyed, biting her lip, her breasts quickly rising and falling … the tension between them rocketing, and Mycroft’s control finally snapped.

Molly gasped when he suddenly backed her against the door, one hand palming her breast, the other cupping her cheek, his thumb tilting her head back as his mouth covered hers. The passion was instantaneous, the touch of their lips sparking the fire that had been building for hours, days. His hands slid to her waist and lifted her higher against the door before he pressed flush against her as they continued to explore each other’s mouths. They broke away to kiss and lick and nibble … cheeks and necks and ears … to the sound of inarticulate murmurs and swallowed moans. Molly clutched Mycroft’s back, fingers twisting the material of his jacket as he dragged his mouth down her throat to her breast, sucking strongly on her nipple through her dress until he caught the hardened flesh between his teeth. His hands ran down the back of her thighs and roughly pulled at her dress, bunching the material in his fists before dragging it up her legs. Molly pressed back harder against the wood panels, breathing harshly as she reached to help him tug her dress up … and cried out when his hand gripped the back of her left thigh and hauled her knee high along his side. He caught her other thigh and raised that knee, then ground himself against her as she wound her legs around him. His hands slowly slid along the backs of her thighs, his grip momentarily tightening when the smoothness of silk stockings changed to the rougher texture of their lacy tops … slid higher and even more slowly over the bare skin of her upper thighs and then under her bottom … hesitating for a moment on feeling nothing but bare skin … then he spread one hand over both cheeks and firmly gripped her as he dragged his free hand around her hip, over her stomach, and speared his fingers between the juncture of her thighs, working his hand deeper until the flat of his palm was cupping her. Molly bucked against him, rubbing herself against the heel of his hand, and moaned his name long and low and desperately, her breathing harsh against his ear. He ground his hand against her moist flesh and then his clever fingers were dipping into her, sliding through her folds, stroking, probing, as the heel of his hand massaged her, kneading, fondling … his thumb circling and pressing as he claimed her lips again. He finally broke away, leaving both of them breathing raggedly, and pressed his forehead to hers for several long moments before pulling back to look at her.

“Molly -” He broke off when she shook her head helplessly, not breaking eye contact. “We should move to the bedroom,” he muttered.

_“No,_ don’t, Mycroft - _please_ don’t move.” Molly clutched him closer and only loosened her hold when he eased his weight off her and reached between them to open his trousers … and then her hands were there to help free him.

Mycroft grunted when she took him in her fist, gripping firmly as she brushed her thumb over the tip of his cock. His breath caught and Molly clamped her mouth on his, her tongue seeking entry and then sliding between his lips with a slow thrust … and again. She slid her fist down and back up his cock, pumped firmly once more, then held him in place as Mycroft bent his knees with a grunt, slowly penetrating her and pushing deeper until he could go no farther ... closing his eyes to focus for a moment on the warm, wet, silkiness of the flesh surrounding him. Molly gasped and pressed her head against the door, and he lifted his head … his eyes meeting hers … and suddenly Molly was laughing. “We should have more self-control than this,” she gasped. “We’re not teenagers.”

“Ninety-five percent of my time is all about control,” he ground out against her throat. “I can bloody well have this one thing that _isn’t!”_ Molly laughed again, then wiggled her feet to kick off her shoes, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek to the side of his head, breath catching as his fingers gripped her bottom more firmly with his slow withdrawal. She shifted upward and wound her legs higher around him, her fingernails and heels digging into him as he drove firmly into her, his cock stretching her, its tip nudging, prodding her innermost flesh. He pulled away slowly, inch by inch, until he was almost free from the grip of her body, then swiftly thrust upward with a rough jerk of his hips … another slow withdrawal followed by a forceful thrust, and another … then his hips bucked harder and faster and their breathing became louder, their hearts hammering in their chests, and they were close … so close. Mycroft worked a hand between them and after just a few firm strokes of his fingers Molly came with a loud gasping moan as her body tightened around him. A few more thrusts and he followed her over the edge, pressing high into her with a guttural groan, and they stayed wrapped together, pressed against the door … chests heaving, muscles twitching and trembling.

Their harsh breathing slowly eased and Mycroft turned his face against Molly’s throat, kissed her neck and then huffed a laugh. “Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am,” he said gruffly. “I think that’s what applies to this type of encounter.”

“Then ‘thank-you-kind-sir’ would be my response,” she murmured huskily, cocking her head to kiss his ear. “It might have been fast, but _that_ ...” [kissing his jaw] “ _was ...”_ [kissing his cheek] _“brilliant!”_ He lifted his head and the next kiss was mouth to mouth. _“Mmm …,”_ she sighed, “you darling.” After a moment’s stillness, Molly tensed as she realized what she’d said, then deliberately relaxed her muscles as she chose to ignore it. “Better let me down,” she said lightly. “My leg’s about to get a cramp.”

Mycroft held her by the waist as she slid her knees down the sides of his thighs, then leaned back and lowered her to her feet. He handed her his handkerchief and Molly glanced up at him before making use of it, then finally crumpled the soft cotton in her fist and shook her dress until it fell into place. Mycroft adjusted his trousers, then stooped to pick up the clutch she’d dropped and handed it to her with a smile. “You want me to massage your leg for you?”

Molly pursed her lips, considering that. “I’d rather you wash my back,” she finally said.

“I could do both,” he suggested.

“You’re on.”

~~~~~

They’d donned pajamas after getting a shower, and Molly curled up on the sofa to read while Mycroft made a couple of calls. It was after midnight when they eventually settled into bed, with Mycroft spooned closely along the curve of Molly’s body, his arm slung over her waist. “So,” she said, “how did you survive our first real date?”

“I certainly enjoyed the last part,” he observed, deadpan.

Molly shifted to get more comfortable, then patted his arm. “So did I, but I enjoyed the dinner as well.” She rolled her head toward him. “Thank you, Mycroft, for a lovely evening.”

He raised up to kiss her, then dropped back onto his pillow. “Good night, Molly.”

“Night.”

Molly was on the verge of drifting off when Mycroft’s soft murmur broke the silence. “You took your knickers off when you went to the ladies, didn’t you.”

Her body had jerked when he first spoke, but she relaxed again with a chuckle. “I did,” she admitted. “I thought we might end up … you know.”

“That showed good planning, my dear,” he said, then smoothly added, “and it certainly made ‘you know’ easier.”

Molly’s eyes widened in the darkness when his voice deepened, and she deliberately brushed her fingers over his forearm. “Mycroft …?” Her breath caught when his arm shifted against her and his hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple, which quickly rose to his touch.

“Hmm?”

She felt him move behind her and turned her head toward him as she rolled partway onto her back. In the dim light from a streetlight filtering through the curtains, she could see that he’d lifted himself onto his elbow. “Aren’t you too tired?”

Mycroft carefully brushed Molly’s hair to the side, then leaned over and pressed his lips to her throat. She sighed when he kissed his way up her neck and swallowed audibly when he sat up and reached for the hem of her nightshirt … and moaned when his warm hands began to move over her skin. “I’m not too tired,” he murmured against her breast. “Are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before taking her nipple between his lips, then huffed a laugh at how quickly she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological. Reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are now (if you're interested in that). :)
> 
> My thanks to [DanannB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DanannB), whom I occasionally rely on to assure me that "No, the sex isn't too smutty!" ... since I _do_ try to stay within "Mature" bounds at worst (best?) and not stray too far into "Explicit" territory ... not that there's anything _wrong_ with that. :)
> 
> For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


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